Death will be my Christmas

“There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”  –Erna Bombeck

It’s 0140, Christmas morning.  I stopped being a child long ago.  There is very little of me left.

I like adulthood for being able to tune out Christmas music and ignore decorations.  The economy has so many people on edge that spray-snow-in-a-can optimism and cheer has dropped off.  Fatigue is in the air like burning tire smoke.  I want to take a chainsaw to the size of our criminal government, carve it down to something small and useful, like a pocketknife.

I went to the drugstore to peruse the As Seen on Tv crap.  Everything was still $19.99.  No Chia Pets!

No one needs a Chia Pet, that’s why it’s brilliant.  I don’t need one: I have dope.

I’ve smoked-out only once, “in moderation”.  I felt no happier.  I am going through the motions of being alive.

I saw a girl in the drugstore.  Tan jacket and ponytail, not ugly, not beautiful, but lovely.  Life.  I looked at her head, at the chestnut ponytail.  Life.  How pointless and precious.

I didn’t buy shit.  I had bought shit earlier, elsewhere.  I averaged approx. $50 per person times 5, an enormous sum for me.

I’d make it a thousand but I don’t have it.

I hate gifts, even getting them.  Let me explain.  I live in America, do you?  We can get nearly anything we want at any time of year (if you want pot all you gotta do is befriend 3 strangers).  Gifts:  if someone I know wanted something badly and I could afford it, I’d get it for them.  The people I know need what they want, they don’t waste.   I don’t like being forced to do anything; take something pleasurable like buying a gift for someone, and make it mandatory.  That’s hell.

You cannot opt out of the gift game unless you are a hermit.  I’ve tried.  It’s horrible to receive anything when you have nothing to give in return.  And yes, I tried warning everyone I knew not to give me anything.  It doesn’t work.

I have no useful advice for surviving holidays, any of them.  Enjoy what you can.

Death will be my Christmas.   Not suicide but natural death, I can wait.  I look forward to the change of pace and new environment, even in Hell.  It’s hell anyway to be alive yet numb.